The Aftermath
301 Words
Demetrio's POV
Moments later, I sit in the driver's seat of my car, staring at her apartment complex. My hands still tremble slightly from the adrenaline, from the release, from the dark satisfaction that courses through me like a drug. The leather steering wheel is warm beneath my palms, and I can still smell her on my fingers. Vanilla and arousal and something uniquely Cellie that I know I'll be chasing in my dreams tonight.
I'm in the middle of an enormous drug deal with the Mexicans, territory negotiations with the Polish, and the Bratva are finding newer, more creative ways to get under my skin. But here I am, chasing after my stepsister like some lovesick fool, like some teenage boy with his first crush. The irony isn't lost on me. The Don of the DeLeon family, reduced to stalking and jerking off in his car.
The streets of Brooklyn stretch out before me, familiar and gritty. A bodega on the corner with its neon sign flickering. Graffiti-tagged buildings telling stories of turf wars and fallen soldiers. The distant wail of sirens that never seem to stop in this city. This is my city, my territory, my kingdom. I've built an empire here through blood and violence and strategic alliances. I've killed men for looking at me wrong. I've destroyed families for business. I've never let anything distract me from the business, from the family, from my responsibilities.
Until her.
I rake my hands through my hair and contemplate my actions, ones that won't repeat themselves. I promise myself that before I drive off, even as I know deep down that it's another lie I'm telling myself. She's gotten under my skin in a way no one else ever has, and I have no idea how to cut her out.
- Writer
